


about us drowning

by adeleblaircassiedanser



Series: so simple, a feeling [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Bipolar Disorder, Canon Compliant, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, idk just read it, or don't if it's not your thing, tagged to 4x07, will be irrelevant after next sunday so get it while it's hot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 14:28:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1269859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adeleblaircassiedanser/pseuds/adeleblaircassiedanser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Let's say you've swallowed a bad thing and now it's<br/>got its hands inside you. This is the essence of love and failure. You see<br/>what I mean but you're happy anyway, and that's okay, it's a love story<br/>after all, a lasting love, a wonderful adventure with lots of action,<br/>where the mirror says mirror and the hand says hand and the front<br/>door never says Sorry Charlie. So the doctor says you need more<br/>stitches and the bruise cream isn't working. So much for the facts. Let's<br/>say you're still completely in the dark but we love you anyway. We<br/>love you. We really do.<br/>- From “You are Jeff" by Richard Siken</p>
            </blockquote>





	about us drowning

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song "Don't call me at all" by flatsound.
> 
> it’s not that I don’t have words to say  
> I just don’t want to be the one that speaks them  
> I’d rather keep it secret until we reach it  
> so I’ll rest my head on the glory of this sorrow  
> I know its hard to swallow, but tomorrow  
> we’ll start new 
> 
> and I remember the lines I thought that I’d forgotten  
> “your only flaw is that you’re flawless”  
> I’m so full of shit, I’m surprised you bought it  
> but to say that I don’t care is more or less astounding  
> because I wrote an entire album about us drowning  
> wasn’t that enough? 
> 
> now I’m haunted by all these holes found in my armor  
> and if my heart beats any harder I will lose it  
> well congratulations, I didn’t know  
> you two had made things so official  
> just don’t call me when it fizzles  
> in fact, don’t call me at all.  
> You can listen to it here: http://flatsound.bandcamp.com/album/sleep
> 
> And the summary is from this poem, which is amazing: http://yupnet.org/siken/2008/03/18/7/#24
> 
> I will see you at the end for actual notes.

Mickey woke up with a crick in his neck, which was how he knew he must have fallen asleep in the chair. _Stupid_. He stretched a bit, then opened his eyes to find he was being watched.  Ian Gallagher was sitting up in Mickey’s (and Svetlana’s?) bed, arms crossed, looking straight at him. And he was naked.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Mickey asked, wiping sleep from his eyes. "First of all, close the fucking door."

"Why bother?" Ian's face was wrong somehow. He was smiling, sort of, but his eyes were flat, dead-looking. "I guess your dad must be dead, or you wouldn't have brought me back here."

"Violated his parole, he's back inside for another year at least."

"What about your wife? Is she cool with us fucking in her marriage bed? Wow! Things are really looking up for you Mick, I never woulda guessed. You're out to your whole family, you have a new haircut, and you wear button-down shirts now! This is amazing."

"Jesus Christ, what are you talking about," Mickey said. "Are you still high?"

"Nah, Mick, I’m just happy to see you. Let's get to it," and Ian started walking towards him, and he was laughing, sort of, but it was a quiet, sick-sounding laugh, and suddenly he was standing right in front of the chair and Mickey was getting the fight-or-flight reflex, wanting to punch him or reach for one of the guns out of the dresser or, even crazier, yell for Lana or Mandy or somebody. _Where_ is _Lana?_ Mickey had no fucking clue what was going on, and he had never liked that feeling.

"So how do you want it? Doggy style, probably, right? We can pretend we don't know each other."

Unlike yesterday, Ian was making eye contact again- but now it was maybe _too_ much, too much focus on Mickey's face when he was struggling to mask what he was thinking and the words were sticking in his throat. Normally he'd come back with something witty, a caustic joke, throw it back in Gallagher's face, of _course_ they weren’t going to fuck right now, in the room he shared with his fucking wife and future child, are you retarded? But the part of him that had used to make jokes was off its game lately. And that weak, girly part deeper inside was louder than ever- the part that wanted him to admit  that it had always been hotter face to face, that sex with Gallagher was good because it _wasn't_ with a stranger, it was with the weird fucking kid from his neighborhood, with the same sense of humor and big, stupid Army dreams and stupid pale, freckled skin and ginger hair that made him look like an alien, and big hands and broad shoulders and a fucking nice cock, too, if you wanted to be a faggot about it, but who had never seemed to realize how much he was _settling_ for Mickey. Who'd never wanted, in the old days, to pretend Mickey was someone else.

 

None of that shit, obviously, could be said out loud, and while Mickey was scrambling for something to say to keep him from looking like such a fucking fairy, Gallagher leaned over and pressed his mouth to the spot where Mickey's shoulder met his neck, and bit down, hard. It happened too fast for Mickey to hold back the groan, and this right here was why it would never work, pretending to be strangers. Gallagher knew every inch of his body, where Mickey was ticklish and where a warm mouth felt

nice, and most of all the spots where a well-timed hickey could finish him off, if he was taking too long to come and Linda was on her way back with the kids.

Gallagher still hadn't come up for air, and Mickey decided to try opening his eyes to try and bring his mind back on line, but then he was faced with Gallagher's long, pale torso, inches away from his face. _You need a fucking cheeseburger_ , was Mickey’s first thought, and there went strike two against this whole roleplay scheme. He wasn’t Gallagher's mother, or any of his dozens of concerned older siblings. What did he care if the kid is surviving on a diet of snow, molly and geriatric jizz? Not his fucking problem. Besides which, Gallagher still looked too ripped for his own fucking good and Mickey would only have to move his left hand six inches or so- and now he was touching him, and he'd forgotten, somehow, how *warm* Ian was, which was FUCKING stupid. Obviously he was warm; he wasn't a fucking corpse yet, but something about the heat of his skin and the way he still smelled the same, after everything, and now Mickey was breathing heavily, and his legs were moving to stand up even though he didn't remember giving the order for them to do that. Now he was up, though, he crossed the room, closing and locking the door, and there was no point worrying where Lana and the rest of them were, not with his heart in his throat and his dick hard in his sweatpants.

When he turned around, though, Gallagher's face was smug, and in that hard way like when he'd told Mickey he was fucking that grandpa, not in the fond way like when he used to watch Mickey beat people up and pretend to disapprove.

"Is the shit still in your third drawer?" Mickey nodded, silently, and watched, frozen, as Gallagher walked over and pulled out the lube and the condoms. They'd stopped using condoms a long ass time ago, which had been stupid, they hadn't even used one on the day of his wedding to an actual hooker- but they were strangers now. Who knew what Ian had picked up in that fucking shithole of a sex club.

"You want it on the bed, or should we move to the bathroom or the hall closet, y'know, for old times' sake?" The things Gallagher was saying would be jokes, on paper, but something about his stiff face and his too-loud voice made it seem like they weren't, somehow.

Not trusting himself to talk without saying way, way too much, Mickey moved to sit on the bed _.  Look away, you idiot, make a normal fucking face, for fuck's sake; do_ not _ask him to touch you._ But it was too much, being here in the room with the kid when just the thought of his cum face had been enough for Mickey to bring himself off more than once.

It wasn't like Gallagher was wearing much less than he had been last night, but now they were alone, and Gallagher had at least stopped physically twitching from who knows what pills and powders, even if he was still acting mean and crazy and unpredictable.

"I'll- can I-" and before he knew it, he was pulling Gallagher towards him by the wrist, and there was no point pretending he didn't want this. Part of him wanted to

prove he still knew Ian's body like Ian knew his, and that was the part that took one nipple into his mouth, and then the other, and then pinched them both *hard*, and sunk down and took Gallagher's whole cock into his mouth before the kid had a chance to recover.

"Shit!" Gallagher shouted, shameless. At least that hadn't changed. The kid had always been way too loud during sex, as if he really didn't think this was anything to be ashamed of. Stupid, so fucking stupid, but despite himself Mickey had always found it a little hot too.

Ian reached down to thread his fingers through Mickey's hair. "Shit, shit, shit," and Mickey looked up to see Ian's face, finally seeing a reflection of how weak Mickey had felt the whole time, cut open at the seams, like everything was riding on this. Ian closed his eyes as soon as they met Mickey's, though, and then he pulled Mickey off by the hair and tried to catch his breath.

Considering that Mickey was still wearing all of his clothes, and Gallagher was bare ass naked, it was pretty fucking sad that Mickey was still so completely powerless in this situation, that _he_ was the one feeling like all his cards were showing. Even close to coming and desperate like this, Ian was still such the top, never really letting go of control even for a second. He passed the lube to Mickey, a command that no longer needed to be spoken, and opened the condom packet as Mickey started getting himself ready. Before, Ian had always known the right line between taking away the pressure of making decisions, and making Mickey feel trapped or defensive. If he didn't think about it, Mickey could pretend they still trusted each other like that.

Mickey had never needed a lot of prep, he liked a little bit of pain, and today he couldn't be done fast enough. He could hear himself making noises, now, but he couldn't cover his mouth, fuck himself on his fingers, and keep touching Gallagher at the same time, so noises it was.

"You're so fucking hot," Gallagher said, whispering now. The last vestiges of Mickey's instinct for self-preservation cried out that he ought to be cautious, that those words sounded calculated, like he'd said them before, maybe to six other guys this week, but it was too late. The warmth from the praise was already spreading underneath Mickey's skin, somehow making him feel safer and even more turned on when he should be ashamed.

"Come here, let me help," Ian said, and then their fingers were touching inside of him, and Gallagher was curving one, expertly, to hit his prostrate.

"Please," Mickey gasped, completely defeated. "Fucking _please_."

Gallagher grinned wolfishly, his gaze flicking back and forth as if he was trying to decide which one of Mickey's eyes to look at.

"You really are a changed man, huh? You never used to actually _beg_." And then he dragged his finger over the spot, lightly, and almost like a reflex Mickey's hand jumped to his dick. He'd really tried to hold off, but this was just cruel.

 

"Come on. You know better than that, Mick," Ian said, a laugh in his voice now, and holding Mickey's hand away. "Now, what can I help you with, baby?"

It was almost like there were two separate Mickeys in the room now. One was standing over the bed, watching in disbelief.

_Are you really going to fall for this? He's talking to you like a fucking john._ Baby? _Are you fucking serious?_

But the soft, doughy, inside part still wanted to talk- and once the words started coming, they don't stop.

"Please, I need you, please fuck me. Please, I need it, fuck, I missed you so fucking much," and finally Gallagher was satisfied, flipping them over so Mickey was on his back and slamming in, all at once. It was overwhelming. Mickey had to bite the back of his hand to stay quiet, but he could tell he was still whimpering like the pathetic fucking child he was. He hated how easy he was for this, had been ever since that first time, in a different bedroom in this same house. That seemed like a long time ago, but also like yesterday, and his weakness was only getting worse, honestly. He'd never been willing to beg for it like that, not out loud, not in these incriminating words, not in a way he couldn't take back later. And Gallagher had never been able to wait him out like this before, laughing and distant even when they were touching in every way two people could.

_He doesn't want this like you want it_ , the smart Mickey said, shaking his head in frustration. It was too late to protect himself now, though. He was fucked, royally fucked, but that was a problem for post-orgasm Mickey to address.

"Please, Gallagher, fuck- Ian, please let me come," and finally, merciful, Ian reached down and jerked him off. It couldn't have been more than three or four strokes before Mickey was coming, harder than he had in months. Gallagher fucked into him a few more times, and then Mickey watched him come, and he now he was feeling warm all over, and here came that happy, tipsy feeling he'd though he'd forgotten about, the one that had always made him stupid and impulsive. The other Mickey was gone now, and all the facts were gone, and there was only this moment, only how perfect this felt, all the edges matching up and nothing left over. Ian pulled out and threw the condom into the bin by the door, and then he turned back, and Mickey stood up and craned his neck to meet Ian's mouth with his. The movement seemed to take no time at all, there was no time anymore, and no room, and no Army and no wife, just the sureness of what would happen, what must happen. Ian's lips were soft, if a little chapped, and Mickey was trying to remember how he had ever survived without this when Ian pulled off and stepped back, looking at Mickey in the eyes with that blank face again.

And then he started laughing.

Not a little chuckle, either- a deep belly laugh, and then he doubled over like he'd just heard the funniest joke of his life. "You're hilarious, Mick, you know that? High-larious, you might say. Are you fucking kidding me?"

 

Suddenly the warm, pleasant feeling had turned hot, and shameful, and Mickey's stomach was twisting like he might puke.

"You're pathetic. What do you think, you're my fucking knight in shining armor? Rescuing me from the scary fairy club, and now what? I'm gonna be your mistress? Things are just gonna go back to how they were? That's fucking funny, I'm not gonna lie to you. Bad news, though. You don't own me anymore."

_I never wanted to own you_ , Mickey wanted to say. He recognized the face Ian was making now. It was the smirking, smug, detached face he'd made the last time he'd stood in the doorway of this room. It was the face that meant _I didn't come here for you_.  And again, it made Mickey feel like he was gonna start crying like a fucking bitch, like the room was cement blocks, like the cells in juvie after lights out, but getting smaller and smaller, like soon it would crush him.

"How does it feel from the other side, huh? Or are you done blurting out how you fucking feel?”

"Stop being an asshole." Mickey's voice was tight, and he was still grasping for the venom that should have been behind the words.

"Wow, that's fucking rich coming from you. Mickey fucking Milkovich wants me to be nice now? Is that it? You want me to be sweet to you? What, are we boyfriend and girlfriend now?"

Mickey didn't say anything to that. What could he say? He was a fucking hypocrite. He wanted a cigarette. They were probably never going to share another cigarette, which was a stupid thing to be broken up about.

"Do you even know how much I used to love you?" Ian was staring at the ceiling, still smiling that scary robot smile. “I was a stupid fucking kid, I was fifteen the first time, did you know that? Do you know how hard I would latch on to any scrap of affection you might throw my way? A smile, or a question about my day while you were getting dressed afterwards? Crumbs. I would have killed for you to kiss me that summer in the dugout. Do you remember the last time you got out of juvie, when you said you missed me because I was a good fucking lay? I thought about that every night for two weeks, and it made me _happy_. That's fucking sad, Mickey. The first time you kissed me was the happiest day of my life since I can remember, and I ended up in foster care that night. I was smiling in my bed in a fucking group home, thinking about you. I was so completely in love with you, and you threw it in my fucking face, Mickey!"

Ian was laughing again, quieter now, but he was smiling like what he was saying was actually a funny joke for them to share, and not a knife in Mickey's gut.

"No," Mickey said, and now the words sucked the breath out of his lungs like he was jumping off a bridge, suicidal; "I didn't do this to you, I did it for you. You're safe because I sleep in bed with a Russian stranger every night. He could have killed you, and you know that. He would have killed us both and forgotten about it by the next day. Jesus Christ, did you need a fucking Hallmark card on Valentine's Day to know I loved you back? Is that what you want to hear? I loved you back. I. Loved. You. Back. Are you kidding me? I went to juvie for you, twice. I got shot for you, twice. And you fucking left- you said you were leaving for as good as forever- because what? I signed a fucking piece of paper? Because I didn't marry your seventeen-year-old ass? I'm sorry we live on the South Side and not on Glee, Firecrotch, but this is as good as it's gonna get."

"Shut the fuck up, Mickey. I'm done with people telling me how my life is going to be, what I need to do, or how good it's gonna fucking get for me. You don't know me anymore. I'm a different person, and I'm going to live the life I deserve from now on. This has been fun. I missed sex with you; you're way tighter than all those closeted middle-class husbands. Other than that, there's not a huge difference between you and my other customers, except that you can't afford me. Now lend me some clothes, or I'm gonna walk into your living room naked. Your choice."

"Jesus Christ, calm down. I'll get you some fucking clothes. I'm pretty sure some of this stuff is yours anyway."

Mickey pulled out a shirt and a hoodie and some shorts, since his pants would definitely be too short. It seemed like Gallagher had grown, again, since the last time they'd seen each other. Every time one of them went away and came back, Gallagher got taller and broader and better looking, and Mickey stayed the same old hood rat.

Trying not to watch the kid get dressed, and feeling so numb that it made him reckless, Mickey ventured- "Look, man, I get that you're mad at me or whatever. But if you're gonna live on your own, you gotta at least take care of yourself, alright? You're too young to die of an overdose. You need to start eating right, y'know? Just- be careful." _Stop going home with random old men_ , he didn't say.

"You're picking a hell of a time to start giving a shit about me, Mick. Besides, I thought you were into prostitutes now, I thought that was your new thing."

Mickey ignored him. "Where are you headed? At least check in with your family. Maybe talk to Mandy too; she was the one who sent me after you."

"Alright, alright. I'll stop by the house. But if they were so worried about me, why did it take them almost four months to find me? I've been back in Chicago for a pretty long fucking time."

Mickey didn't have an answer for that.

"Yeah, exactly. I don't really wanna stay there, if they even still have a bed free for me. So I'll be back here tonight, if that makes you feel better. You can keep up this Good Samaritan act, feed me a hot meal and protect me from strangers and shit. We might even fuck again. Does that make you feel better?"

It made Mickey feel something, alright, but "better" was not the right word. "Whatever," he said, intending to sound indifferent, but it came out just sounding tired.

Gallagher shut the door behind him. Mickey felt like breaking shit, but he'd already fucked up the mirror, so he settled for ripping a couple of drawers out of the dresser, punching a couple small holes in the drywall, and pretending he wasn't crying. He was really fucking tired, and he couldn't have slept more than two hours sitting in that fucking desk chair. The sun was still barely up. Mickey swiped a hand across his face and climbed into bed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this got away from me a bit. I feel for both Mickey and Ian, a bit, and I think they do love each other but maybe they aren't good for each other right now, and neither of them has the extra resources to both survive themselves and be a support system for someone else who is just on the edge between survival and meltdown. So that resonates with me a lot. Also, I recognize that Ian is pretty far out of character in some ways, but I was kind of following the direction of the show, and as someone who has experienced more than my share of manic episodes, often it leads you to strong emotions like anger as well as just euphoria, and you can feel untouchable and extremely righteous in your anger and sometimes your normal levels of empathy are not there. So that was kind of what I was going for with this... I don't know. It became very emotional. I'd like to hear any thoughts y'all might have about it. I am ready for the new episode now. I may follow this up with a little ficlet about Svetlana and Mickey's next conversation, but I'm not sure.


End file.
